In Primary school, I had a teacher called Mrs McGill. She always wore a high necked frilly blouse with a brooch pinned at her clavicle.
Mrs McGill had a very scratchy voice that sounded like the noise broken glass would make if it could speak. It was more of a croak and my young mind thought this was because the pin from the brooch had pierced through her blouse and got stuck in her neck.
I went to my drawing class today. The tutor also has a scratchy voice but does not wear a brooch. She has a vocal disability which means that her voice is barely above a whisper and it is a struggle for her to speak. However, because she’s good and worth listening to, there is absolute silence in the room when she does talk. Last week, she asked me if I could be her voice and call the class to attention which I did with an authoritative “Oi!!” to all. I felt privileged, as if I’d just been given the honour of prefect (which I sadly missed out on at school because I wasn’t good enough).
We worked with charcoal again today and were warned it was going to be messy so I wore my funeral attire. The theme was contrast and tone and our main piece was to draw our outerwear – coats, scarves, bags etc. – casually draped over a chair. I meant to draw my coat and bag, but by the time I’d finished sketching my coat, it filled the page so I had no room for my bag. Shame really, as it was my best handbag.